School's Out Forever
by Gwen Brunye
Summary: Violet doesn't know she's dead. Tate's conflicted about how to to tell her.  Meanwhile, they have their favorite past time to distract them...  includes some yummy smut
1. Chapter 1

Tate knew they had forever. Violet thought they had only today. In her mind she'd be back in that shit hole they call high school tomorrow, slogging through her classes with nothing but Tate's hands on her mind. Tate felt a twist of guilt when she complained about returning to school. He couldn't bring himself to tell her yet.

Violet deserved to live. She was a good person. But he hadn't been able to save her. That was a pain that sat heavy in his chest and heaved a little when she looked at him sometimes with those trusting doe eyes. As long as she thought she was living he could try to pretend, too. . He could pretend that she was going have the chance to enjoy everything in life she was too scared or cynical right now to admit she wanted. Maybe keeping the secret was selfish. Maybe he was more than a little afraid.

He was afraid that when she knew the truth, that light in her would dim, her quirky take on the world would fade and be replaced by resignation, surrender. He liked her feisty temper, but what if death turned it to true anger – the kind that gnawed at him, threatened to eat him from the inside out? Its fangs were not as sharp with Violet by his side. But that could change. She could develop her own set of fangs. She could become all sharp edges and dark shadows. He lost her once, helpless to only press desperate kisses into her hair. He didn't think he could do it again.

So he tried to keep her busy - playing Scrabble and tossing the ball to Beauregard. And, of course, now there was sex. Violet was eager to learn and Tate was a gentle teacher. When ordinary teenagers were slouching at their desks at Westfield High, two not-so-ordinary teenagers were conducting lessons of their own. Violet's bed was their classroom.

Naked, entwined between the sheets, he delighted in giving Violet pleasure. She'd have to stifle her whimpers as Tate worked the length of his cock in and out of her, slowly, each stroke edging her closer to release. He slipped so easily through her wetness, gliding into her pulsing heat, reaching deeper each time until she threw her head back on the pillow and formed her mouth into a silent "O". He kept his mouth close to her ear to whisper things that made her dig her nails into his skin. "You feel so good inside, Violet." and "What do you want me to do, Vi? Tell me. Let me make you come." He wanted to hear her say the words. He got so hot when she told him to move faster, deeper, yes, right there, right there, Tate, oh.

In bed the snarky, spit-fire Violet was replaced by a curious girl devoted to explore all the sensations a boy could make her feel. He was grateful for every moment she allowed him to touch her. The girls he'd been with in high school were nothing like Violet. They were already jaded, giving out blow jobs like dutiful little sluts. The times he got sucked off by a girl he felt a strange mixture of intense pleasure and intense loneliness. It was strange how a girl's lips could be wrapped around his dick when he felt no connection to her whatsoever. And fucking was about getting something, not giving. Anyway he had nothing to give them, especially since it was nothing he was so desperate to feel. Feeling nothing was better than the anger, the sadness, the loneliness that threatened to swallow him whole. So he numbed it all with drugs and angry music and meaningless sex until he didn't feel sad. He didn't feel anything.

And now, here was Violet. And things he'd long forgotten to even hope for were blooming inside of him. He didn't deserve this chance, yet here she was. And she wanted him. She wanted _him_.

It was the thing that made him the happiest he'd ever been in his life and afterlife. It was also the thing that made him the most afraid. When she found out the truth – that she was stuck in the murder house for eternity with him – and maybe even _because_ of him – how would she feel then? When she realized that the darkness that so attracted her had sucked her in, would she let it swallow her whole? He wanted so desperately to protect her from that. He didn't want her to be sad.

So he devised a plan.


	2. Chapter 2

It's a dream I've had for a few nights in a row now. I'm somewhere dark and cold and then I'm in Tate's arms. He's carrying me. I don't even open my eyes, but I know it's him because he's warm and strong and he tells me that everything is going to be okay. And I'd believe him, except that he is crying.

My alarm blasts me into the reality of my room. Instead of my usual alternative rock station, it's blaring some kind of Spanish talk radio show. _What the fuck? Oh... Tate. _

Just as I think his name he's there at the foot of my bed, laughing. I smack down the snooze button.

"Very funny," I grumble and burrow back down in my quilt.

The mattress bounces as he hops onto the bed, straddling me over my bundle of blankets. He reminds me of Tigger pouncing on Winnie The Pooh. Jesus, he has a lot of energy in the morning. But I remember that "morning" doesn't mean anything to him. And then _that_ reminds me I should be freaked out by the fact that he's in my room at 6:00 a.m. Of course I know he's dead and this is his permanent home and I am actually an occupant in his old room. I also know that he is happily clueless to all of it, so I just leave it alone.

He starts to kiss the part of my head that's sticking out of the blankets. I wriggle underneath, trying to shove him away. "Get off! I'm going back to sleep." He is undeterred. He pulls the blankets away from my face and shoulders. He pecks at my forehead and cheeks.

He continues to pull the covers down and, to be honest, I don't put up much of a fight. Until he starts to tickle me. Then I get mad. I am not a morning person. My parents know to give me a wide berth until at least 10 a.m. and then I'm only good if I've had my caffeine. But here he is digging his fingers into my waist and I'm laughing, which only makes me madder, so I go to push him off of me, but my hand accidently smacks him hard against his lip. "Ow!" he calls out, only half-joking, and rolls off of me.

I lean up on my elbow. "I am so sorry!" I say and I'm shocked to see there is actually a little bit of blood on his lip. His tongue ventures out to taste it. I'm suddenly gripped with a desire to taste it myself. It looks so bright and sweet... Before I realize it I lean down and lick it. He looks just as surprised as I do. I have the strange urge to bite him so he'll bleed some more. He sees it in my eyes and he lifts his head up to kiss me, hard.

Suddenly our mouths are open, our tongues reach and wrestle. I feel a jolt between my legs. Our mouths part for just a moment as he lifts my tank top over my head. I plunge my mouth into his again as my nipples graze his sweater. He moans into my mouth. I move my knee between his legs and press it against the swell in his jeans. Our tongues work furiously to taste each other, like we can't get enough. His hands feel cool against the skin of my back. They venture down...

The blast of a Spanish radio commercial forces us up for air. I reach desperately for the clock, being careful to slam down the "off" button this time. I groan and Tate laughs before pushing my shoulders back against the bed and he's lying over me. "Do you want to?" he whispers. I instinctively look at my door. It's closed, of course, but I think about my dad. Tate reads my mind. "Don't worry. He went for his morning run."

"I'm supposed to be getting ready for school," I say, but he's already kissing his way down my neck. He mumbles something into my skin above my breast. "What?"

He lifts his head briefly to say,

"Just skip it." before plunging his mouth around my nipple. _Christ_, that feels good. His lips are so soft. His tongue flicks my nipple playfully. Then he starts to suck in earnest as his hand fondles the other one. I feel like I could cum just from the rhythm of his mouth tugging at my breast. I wonder then what his mouth would feel like on my... His lips venture over to suckle the other side. I close my eyes and enjoy the sensations. He's so hard against my leg. His ruts against me in his jeans. I want to be naked with him, I want... "Are you going to skip?" he asks suddenly, leaving my nipple wet and swollen, aching for more.

"What? Oh, yeah. fuck it," I say. He grins from ear to ear. I can't help but smile at that boyish, dimpled grin. God, he's cute. But now he needs to get back to – yes, there it is. He envelops my nipple with his warm mouth. I start to think again about his tongue down between my thighs and I shift restlessly on the bed. He hasn't tried it yet. I don't know if he wants to. I don't know if I'll like it. No, I'll like it. But if he tries it, I'll probably chicken out. The idea of his mouth down there is so – shit I can't think about it because it's too much.

He sits up to pull off his sweater and undershirt. Why the hell would I even _think_ of sitting through those brutal classes and seeing all those bourgeois bitches when I could spend the day doing _this_?

I sit up and smooth my hands against his chest. His breath quickens as I graze his nipples with my palms. I slowly move them up to his shoulders. He takes my wrists and pushes me back against the bed. He lets go and kisses me, the kind of slow, deep kiss I can feel down to the tips of my toes. "I want to make you feel good, Violet," he says. I gulp and pray that my dad takes one of his super punishing morning runs. As Tate kisses his way between my breasts and down my stomach, I even pray that he'll have a minor cardiac episode just so we'll have enough time...

Tate pulls my shorts and panties down my legs, dropping them to the floor. He slides down on his stomach and slowly pulls my thighs apart. Oh, God. Oh, God, okay, here we go, oh shit, he's going to do it…

His tongue presses against my folds and my whole body shudders. He glances up at me for a second and then reaches his tongue out to lick me again. A groan escapes me and he starts to taste me in earnest. I prop myself up on my elbows to watch his blonde head moving between my thighs. I feel the delicious caress of his tongue, how it swirls and pulses against me, and I am quite sure I'm going to die. My juices are flowing, he laps them up, moaning into my pussy like it tastes so good. He makes me believe it, so I relax fully into the massage of his tongue. I buck my hips to meet his naughty kisses and squeal when he gently sucks at my clit. I whisper his name, a chant, because I'm getting so close, _Tate, Tate, Tate_... he plunges his tongue in and out in and out. I am soaking wet and swollen, the pressure rising, _Tate, Tate, Tate!_ Oh god, here it goes, here it goes – here it – oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, god, fuck, holy fuck, fuck, fuck _fuck_, holy shit mother….

When the wave subsides I realize I'd been screaming. My hands are grasping fists of his hair. I let go gently and fall back to my pillow, breathless, ripples of pleasure still seizing me.

Tate sits up against his heels and he looks so happy, like making me cum is his sole purpose in life. Or rather, his afterlife. But I don't want to think about Tate being dead because he is way too beautiful and I can see he's way too fucking hard right now for me to think he's anything other than a normal, horny teenager. I sit up and undo the button on his jeans. He hops off the bed and pulls them off with his boxer shorts. I'd never actually seen a real live dick before Tate's, but I am pretty sure that he is in the porn-star category as far as size goes.

He grabs my hips and swings them around until they're lined up with the edge of the bed. He slowly enters me from a standing position. I wrap my legs around him. He pushes into me carefully, and I gasp as he fills me. He asks if it feels okay, but speech has left me, so I nod emphatically and grab hold of his shoulders. He leans forward, putting his hands on either side of my head, folding me almost in half. And oh, he can reach so deep inside that way. It's so intense I can't breathe. He meets my gaze and pushes in. I give a little cry. He starts to pump faster, each time his hips press against my clit and in a moment I'm squealing, gripping his arms as he grunts, his hips moving in a rhythm that is driving us both insane.

"Oh, it's so good, Vi. It's so good." He presses his forehead against mine. "Violet, I want you to cum, " he rasps, pulsing to touch that spot that only he can reach. "Cum for me, Violet…"

My body seizes with the wave of pleasure, my back arching, my mouth open but I have no voice to cry out because my body is singing. He follows behind me, crying out with his own release.

We collapse on the bed together and stare starry eyed at the ceiling as our bodies cool.

He turns on his side to face me, so I do the same. "I'm so glad we have the whole day together," I say.

He pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. His eyes look sad.

"Oh, and Tate?"

"Yeah?"

"Quit fucking with my alarm clock."

He smiles, bringing a little of the light back.

I only hope I can make it stay.


	3. Chapter 3

She falls asleep with a soft smile. He loves to watch her face when it's relaxed like this.

He thinks about the expressions she made when he was inside of her, the way her forehead crinkles when she comes. He remembers how her thighs quivered when he pressed his mouth against her. She came so hard on his tongue. Her juices flowed warm and sweet. He still has her taste on his lips.

His body is so relaxed that he almost feels like he could drift off with her. He watches Violet's eyelids twitch. He wonders if she's dreaming. He wonders if she still can.

It can be like this always. They don't need anyone or anything. This bed is their universe. Their bodies are food and fuel for each other. It's as simple as this strand of hair that's fallen across her cheek. It is as easy as her breath coming soft and steady and sweet.

But he's still sharing her with the world of the living. She still thinks in terms of hours, days, obligations, expectations. And she will until she knows the truth. He'll tell her. He will. He just has to prepare.

It's a risk. She has to make the choice to die. With him. For him. She understands the secret of the house. She knows about the others. She knows death here would not mean disappearing. It could work. It will have to.

"Well if it isn't Little Lord Fauntleroy."

Hayden leans on the door to the closet of Ben's office.

Tate ignores her. He's checking the shelf for samples.

"What are we looking for? Uppers? Downers? What anguish is poor little Tate suffering today?"

"Would you shut-up?"

"Hey, why are you so hostile?"

"You're Ben's whore."

Hayden laughs.

"Oh, I see. So, I offend your sense of morality?"

Tate picks up a bottle. There might be enough pills in there.

She sighs, pouting against the door frame. "We share this house, you know. It wouldn't kill you to be a little friendly."

"I'm already dead, thanks."

"So I fucked Ben. What is up your ass about him?"

"He hurt Violet."

"Ah, yes. Violet," she sighs dramatically. "How is your little nightingale? Are you finally letting her rest? Jesus, you've had her holed up in that room for days now."

"Why do you care what I do?"

"I don't, really. But I'm bored. And since you won't let me fuck you, I can at least fuck _with _you."

"Wonderful," he mumbles sarcastically. He puts the vile of pills in his pocket and checks the label on another.

"Seriously, Tate. There aren't many others here I can have an intelligent conversation with."

"Oh no? You can't deconstruct Keats with the dog walker?"

"I don't think Travis knows any three syllable words."

"Well, he was fucking Constance, so I'm sure he's a fucking moron."

"Oh yeah, so let's talk about Mommy. What happened there?"

"What?"

"You are an eternal seventeen-year-old in murder house. You don't need my degree in psychology to know that's got Mommy written all over it."

"Whatever."

"_Speaking_ of mothers… nice performance the other night." She smiles darkly. "You scared the shit out of her."

"Whatever. It's done."

"Did it turn you on?"

"What?"

"Come on," she says, taking a step towards him. "Don't tell me you didn't get hard feeling her struggle underneath you."

"Shut up!"

She laughs, ignoring the warning in his black eyes.

"Oh, please. I know you like it rough. Does nightingale like it, too? Or is it all vanilla? '_Gosh_, _I love you, Violet'_ and '_Oh, gee, I love you too, Tate'_. Did you tell her you raped her mom before you popped her cherry?"

Tate's hand flies to her throat, squeezing. She grips his arm, tries to loosen his hold. He lets her struggle, waits for her eyes to roll back. He slams her against the wall before letting go.

She coughs, and gulps at the air. "Fuck, Tate," she rasps. "I'm not going to tell her." She rubs her throat. It's already showing the bruise marks from his fingers. "I actually enjoy watching her follow you around like a little puppy."

"You're a cunt."

She laughs.

The doorbell chimes. Tate stuffs one more vile into his pocket and shifts himself to the hallway to see who it is. If it's about Violet he needs to know. Hayden shows up right beside him. The truant officer introduces himself to Ben.

"Shit."

"Uh, oh, somebody's in big trouble," Hayden teases.

"Shut up!"

If she hadn't been running her mouth he might've been able to stop the officer before he got to the door.

_Shit. Shit. Shit_.

They listen to the exchange.

"Two weeks!" Hayden gasps in mock horror. "Oh naughty, naughty nightingale."

He wants to pound her fucking head against the wall.

"Isn't there a dick around you could fill that mouth with?"

"Oh, you mean like your daddy's?"

Jesus Christ he is going to have to kill something.

"You know, he's a very dirty boy. He likes when I call him names – "

Tate wills himself to the basement. If she fucking follows him he'll feed her to Thaddeus.

He paces restlessly. He just needs to _think_. Ben said he'd get an exterminator for the flies. Jesus, the flies. From her body. Violet's body. Oh no here come the voices. They dart and dodge inside his brain. If he could just _think_. But they're growing louder, insistent, hungry.

He'll follow them for just a little while.

As for Violet… He hopes she's still sleeping. He hopes she still dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

Tate isn't in the bed when I wake up. He has a habit of doing that – whisking away once he knows I'm asleep or absorbed in some book. Lately he's been sticking around, though. He holds me and touches me like all he wants is for me to feel good and safe. It's working. I do.

I've been playing sick to be with him. Well, I am sick – sick of pretending like my life is anything near the realm of normal. It's nice to escape in our games of Scrabble. Well, Scrabble really ends up being a kind of high-brow foreplay – an unspoken challenge of who's going to give in first, swipe the pieces off the board and declare surrender with a kiss. And that's when I feel like there will never be enough time in the day, when what he's doing to me is the only thing I will ever know or need or feel.

So I've been hiding out with Tate. And most of the time I think I wouldn't mind just joining him here in the strange life of this house, to escape inside it and shut out the rest of the world. Because the world out there, it scares me now. I feel a sense of dread at the thought of even walking out the front door. Usually nothing scares me. Lately, though, I feel different, disconnected.

Tate helps me come back to myself. When he presses against me I feel the solidness of our bodies. It's an assurance that I am really here. It sounds crazy, but crazy is the country I've been living in for a while now. I can only imagine trying to relate to someone at school.

'_Hi, I'm Violet. I'm dating a super hot guy who happens to be a ghost, oh yeah and a former mass murderer. My mom is in the loony bin after hallucinating that some man in a rubber suit was trying to rape her. She's pregnant with twins and the last time she lost the baby at seven months, so who knows what could happen this time. My dad had an affair with some whore just a few years older than me and it almost broke up their marriage except, and this is the kicker, they thought that moving into a house that is the star attraction on the "Murder Tour" would be just the thing to bring our family back together again_. _Want to be friends_?'

I don't think so.

I'd say considering all that's happened I'm owed a few days off from school. In fact I think it's worth a whole semester off, at least. Maybe I should go backpacking in Europe or something. Tour around Paris and meet some hot French guy and try to forget that my first love was a sad boy who was disturbed in life, and may still be disturbed in death. He's spent a long time in the darkness of this house. I know he's changed, but sometimes I see a shadow sweep across his face. And I wonder.

If I'm totally honest with myself I'd admit that I'm a little afraid of Tate. But the bigger truth is that my fear of him turns me on. He's kind and loving and attentive and sweet, but he is also brooding and angry and haunted. And I'm attracted to that dark part of him, too. I guess that means I'm twisted. But maybe it's okay. Maybe Tate and I can be twisted and sick and haunted together. We'll find a safe place to be strange. I think that's maybe all I ever really wanted, anyway. Maybe it's all that I need.

I asked my mom once how she knew she was in love. She said you go crazy and before you know it the whole world looks different and then you'll do anything for the other person.

So I stretch out in the sheets of the empty bed and I wonder if that's how I feel about Tate.

.

...

.

"What are you doing?" Tate appears in the doorway of the kitchen. His edgy tone surprises me because I'm just leaning against the counter dialing a number on my phone.

"I'm calling this girl from my class. I need to get the work I've been missing. She's like one of those straight A – "

"Not now, Vi. Don't call her now," He crosses the kitchen to me. "You can make up the work later. "

It's already ringing.

"It's just a quick – Hi, Lindsey?"

_Hello?_

"Yeah, Lindsey, it's Violet – from Chemistry class?"

_Hello?_

"Um..it's Violet from - "

_Hello – is anyone there?_

"What the hell?"

"What's wrong?"

"It's like my speaker's busted. She couldn't hear me. The same thing happened when I tried to call my mom yesterday."

Tate snatches the phone from my grasp.

"I hate these things. They're so annoying."

"These _things_?" I laugh. "Do you mean _cell phones_?"

"Yeah. "

"Give it back. I'll just text her." I reach for it as he sweeps it above his head, like we're playing keep-away.

"I thought we were going to spend the day together," he pouts.

"We are but I have to get caught up. I'm really behind on my work."

He slips my phone in the back pocket of his jeans.

"So, you have time. You can do it later."

"No, Tate. I promised my dad that I'd go back to school tomorrow."

"What?"

"Look, it's serious. An officer actually came to the house. He said we could end up in juvenile court."

"They're just trying to scare you, Violet! "

He takes hold of my arms when he says this. His eyes are wide, desperate. I complain to him a lot about school, but jeez, it's not a life or death situation.

"No, Tate. My dad's been through enough already and – "

"Are you kidding?" he yells, releasing his hold and turning from me. "Fuck him, Vi! Who cares?"

"Tate – "

"No!" He bangs his fist on the counter. When he sees me jump his tone softens. "He hurt you, Violet! Look," he takes my arm, turns my wrist up to the light. He rubs a light finger over the scars.

"How many of these are because of him?"

I pull my arm away, instinctively covering it with my sleeve.

"I can't screw up, Tate," I say quietly, afraid of fueling his anger. "I can't. Not with my mom in the hospital and everything that's happened."

He's quiet. I venture a look at his eyes. They're trained on me, but they're not angry. They're sad.

"Violet," he says softly. "Violet, listen to me." He takes my hands in his. "You've been through so much. It's not fair for them to make you feel this way. I won't let them."

He wraps his arms around me and rests his head against the top of mine. His sweater is soft against my cheek. I start to have that feeling again – like I'm losing it. It's like at any moment I might disintegrate, disappear. I'm glad Tate is holding me tight.

"Everything's going to be okay," he says. "Remember – I love you."

I relax against him at the sound of these words. But the moment is broken when I hear another voice.

"Oh, well I see Miss Violet is feeling better."

Shit. Moira.

I push away from Tate's embrace and I hate myself for acting so guilty.

"Tate, how nice of you to keep Violet company when she's not feeling well," she says sarcastically.

"Moira, you can't tell my dad Tate was here," I say, hating how pathetic I sound.

"It's okay, Violet." Tate says. His voice is even and dark. I look up at his face to see him staring at Moira with a half-lidded glare.

"Yes," Moira says, meeting Tate's gaze with her one good eye. "We have lots of secrets in this house." She throws a dishtowel over her shoulder. "And the secrets you decide to keep from your father are up to you. Only I'd try to be more careful if I were you. Cavorting with one of your father's patients in the kitchen is probably not the best idea."

I cringe at her referring to Tate as my dad's patient.

"And I'm quite sure your mother wouldn't approve," she adds.

My mother – locked away in some mental hospital because I lied. I lied to my parents so I could stay with Tate.

"Moira, I – "

"Go upstairs, Violet."

I look at Tate, surprised at his commanding tone and the way he's still looking at Moira, like he could rip the meat off her bones.

I look back at Moira who is taunting him with a sideways smile. Her ruined eye is shining.

"Oh. Okay," I mumble, but I don't think either one of them is listening to me.

I'm in my room and I don't remember going up the stairs. But I feel so tired and confused all of a sudden that I just want to lay down and rest. I want to wake up and feel normal again.

As I crawl under the covers I think it's a good idea to go back to school. It'll be so easy to just sit at a desk and listen to the teachers blather. I'd like the assurance of a bell telling me when to leave somewhere and when to arrive. And then there'd be the relief of being surrounded by other people like me. Well, not like me in any way that matters other than they have a pulse.

I realize as I drift off to sleep I'm ready to go back.

I'm ready to rejoin the living.


	5. Chapter 5

"That poor girl's in love with you."

"Leave her alone, Moira."

"I might say the same to you."

"I will leave her alone. If that's what she wants."

Moira shakes her head.

"She's going to need you, I suppose," she says, giving him a pointed look. "Under the circumstances."

"I'm going to take care of her."

"Well, be sure of it," she says. Then her voice lowers to almost a whisper. "You owe that to Mrs. Harmon, at least."

Tate drops his gaze.

"I've learned," she continues, "that this house has a way of getting what it wants."

He pulls at a loose strand on his sleeve.

"It was for Nora."

Moira is quiet.

"Violet can't know," he urges.

"It's not in my interest to bring any more pain to this family," she says.

He raises his eyes. She nods. A truce.

He starts to leave.

"Tate – "

He pauses in the doorway, but does not turn.

"You have to tell Violet about the pills."

"I know."

"You have to tell her now," she insists gently.

He keeps his back to her so she can't see the tears pooling in his eyes.

"I swear I didn't want this, Moira."

She pulls the dishcloth from her shoulder and wipes the counter.

Her voice is quiet.

"I already know that, Tate."

.

...

.

He slowly opens the door to her bedroom. The room is dark but for the single bulb of her desk lamp. She's sleeping, curled into herself on the bed. He watches her. Soon his breath slows to match her rhythm. Tomorrow he will ask her to die with him. And he realizes that it will be the closest to another kind of proposal he will ever make. It's too soon and she's too young and there is every reason for her to say no, except one.

He walks to the desk and takes the piece of chalk on the tray. He leans over to write his message on the board. He rests the chalk back in its place.

"Tate?"

Her voice is barely a whisper.

He goes to her, sits on the bed beside where she is laying. Her eyes are still closed.

"I'm here," he says. He strokes her hair.

"Good," she whispers. "Will you hold me?"

He climbs gently onto the bed, lying behind her. He wraps his arm around her delicate waist. He presses his face into her hair. It smells like lavender.

He is content to just lay with her, to feel her body pressed close to his. But he finds she has another idea. She takes his hand and guides it up under her shirt to her breast. He cups the tender mound, feels her nipple rise against his palm. He gently skims and pinches it before kneading a greedy handful. She moans softly into her pillow.

He moves his leg between hers, pulling them apart. His hand leaves her breast to venture down to stroke her over the thin cotton of her panties. She whimpers in response to the firm insistence of his fingers. He feels her wetness soaking through and accepts the invitation to push his hand down past the elastic, his fingers pressing against her clit. He nibbles at her ear, her neck. She squeals and writhes under his touch.

He kneels and removes her panties away in a single sweep. She pulls her shirt over her head and lays back against the pillow to let him take in the sight of her nakedness. His eyes roam over her skin glowing in the soft light. His cock responds, pressing eagerly against the confines of his jeans.

He puts a hand on her thigh and slowly skims it over her skin, up to her stomach, swirling over a breast, following the line of her neck until he reaches her mouth. He puts his middle finger to her lips and she sucks it in to the knuckle. He uses his other hand to thumb her clit. He watches with satisfaction her squirm under his touch. When he can't wait another moment, he pulls his hands free to whisk his sweater off, unfasten his jeans to pull them with his boxer shorts off and away.

He positions his hips between her thighs and skims his member ever so slightly against her slit. He prolongs the anticipation by leaning down to kiss her, parting her lips with his and reaching with his tongue. She threads her fingers through his curls and kisses him deeply before pulling his head away. "Tate," she coos.

"What do you want, Violet?" he asks softly. "Tell me."

She bucks her hips up, trying to coax his cock inside. He puts a hand on her hip to hold her still. "Tell me what you want, Vi." He skims her neck with his lips. She whimpers.

"I want you, Tate," she rasps.

"You want me to what?" he teases her cruelly, his cock stroking her folds.

"I want you to fuck me."

With that he pushes the length of him into her heat. She gasps as he fills her. He draws out slowly, pushes in. He kisses her forehead, her cheek, her ear, she moans and lifts her hips, sliding him deeper inside. Her juices slick his cock as he quickens his pace. Their bodies move together in a delicious rhythm, a perfect give and take ushered by the sounds of their pleasure. His arms move under her shoulders, his hands cradle her head. When they kiss, his tongue mimics the strokes of his cock until she is squealing into his mouth. He almost comes with her, but he slows the pace as her muscles spasm around him.

He begins again, slowly, pulsing with long, thorough thrusts. He bows his forehead to her shoulder, relishing the moist heat that envelopes him. She whimpers and pulls at his arms and he knows she wants him to go faster so she can come again, but instead he pauses inside of her. She cries out softly in protest.

"Tate – " she says, breathlessly.

"Look at me," he whispers.

She opens her eyes. Still he does not move, he feels her muscles grip at him.

"Tate – " she whimpers, "Tate, please – " She closes her eyes again and bucks her hips slightly upward.

"Shhhh... Violet," he coaxes. "Just look at me." Her eyes open. He locks her gaze, holding it long and steady. He strokes her hair.

"I love you, Violet," he says. Then he begins to move, just a slow, small push.

"I love you," he reaches deeper with his length.

"I love you." He pulses again.

"I love you." again.

"I love you."

He plunges into her now, delivering thrusts fast and hard. She squeals and bucks, his cock stoking the spot that only he can reach. He grits his teeth against the incredible pressure. She is hot and wet and so tight around him. He pounds into her fiercely, she claws at his back.

Her body clenches him in the grip of her orgasm. "Tate!" she gasps, rising higher.

His breath hitches, he cries her name, gripped by the same rising wave. This is love, he's sure of it. He's never known anything so true. The wave crests and he lands, safe and sated on her shore.

They whimper each other's name as their bodies reluctantly part.

Finally she turns away from him, sighing against her pillow. She is deliciously sleepy again. Before closing her eyes she spies the words he scribbled in chalk, barely visible in the dim light.

_**All Apologies**_

"Tate," she whispers. But he doesn't answer.

He is finally able to sleep.

.

...

.

.

**Author's Note:** _Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed this story so far. I greatly appreciate your feedback. I will try to get the next chapter out soon, but it may take a little longer than the others because I think it will be the hardest one to write. Also – if you are not familiar with the reference to "All Apologies" – it's a song by Nirvana. Check it out if you can, it's a great song. I hope you continue to enjoy the story and please keep the reviews coming!_


	6. Chapter 6

_I love you Violet…_

This boy with tousled blonde curls, dimpled smile, and gentle hands, murdered fifteen kids in cold blood. Their names are engraved at the high school. I saw it. I stood in the library. I traced his predatory steps.

_And I want you to be happy…_

This boy who presses sweet kisses to my lips and whispers loving words in my ear, he pulled the trigger again and again, looking directly into his victims' eyes. He heard them beg and he heard them scream. He watched them bleed.

_And free…_

This boy who knows the secrets of my body knows the secrets of this house. He is part of the secret. Maybe a bigger part of it than I know.

_If we take these…_

This boy thrills me. He scares me. He comforts and alarms me. He is my shelter. He is my storm.

_We can be together. _

This boy wants me to die.

_Forever._

He knows how to do it so it won't hurt.

We are in the attic- our hideaway from the world. It was a safe and special place for me until this moment. Now it is filled with shadows.

Pills and razor blades. I am well acquainted with both. The blades he is holding are my own. The pills are samples swiped from my dad's cabinet.

They are the golden ticket. The gateway to forever. A lifetime and then some with Tate.

He paces around me in a circle, agitated, anxious, pulling at his hair.

I try to calculate the price of forever, but he needs an answer _**now**_.

"We can't get all chicken-shit about this Violet!" he shouts, "We're running out of options!"

His panicked tone rattles me.

He waits for my answer, breath heaving, dark eyes piercing me through a curtain of reckless blonde hair.

"Yeah, I get it," I hear myself say. "It's the only way we can be together."

But my heart screams that there must be another way. He rushes at me with a kiss.

"Like Romeo and Juliet," he sighs.

Romeo and Juliet. A tragedy. An impossible love that was never meant to be.

I want to cry. I want to run. I want to tell him -

_I am so scared of you, Tate! I want your eyes come back to me. Hold me the way you do when I'm afraid. Don't make me choose, Tate._ _Because I don't want to believe that death is the only way to you._

But the Tate I know is gone from me. This one – I can't let him know I'm going run. I tell this Tate a lie.

"Can we do it in the bath?"

"Why?" he huffs.

"Because it's warm and nice and I can light some candles."

He is not so far gone that he can ignore the pleading in my eyes.

"Okay," he says, "but we have to go now."

Time is of the essence, you see, because he has done something to my dad. He "just scared him a little." I am so afraid he is hurt. I am so afraid he is dead. I don't trust Tate. I don't trust _this_ Tate. It makes me sick and sad and so scared I can barely breathe. I have to find my dad. We have to get out of this house. We need to get out to the air, the sun, away from this fear and these shadows.

"I'll go run the bath."

I wait until I reach the stairs before I start to scream.


	7. Chapter 7

When he returns to the room she is sitting on the edge of the bed. It's dark already, the moon full and boastful in the sky, but it feels like a hundred years since he showed her the body.

It seems impossible that just last night they were in this same room making love, when he was doing what he could to fortify her for what was to come. He wanted her to know she was loved, just as he did when he held her in the bath, the cold water rushing down.

He failed in saving her twice now. Once from death and once again from the truth.

She doesn't turn her head when he closes the door. She's gazing at the chalkboard, the message he had left for her there.

_All Apologies_.

He turns the chair from the desk to face her.

"I swiped these from Constance the other day," he says quietly, pulling out a half-full pack of cigarettes.

She looks at the pack and gives him that sideways smirk he loves so much. He is so relieved to see it.

"Yeah, I guess they won't kill me, right?" she says, pulling one out. But her voice is sad. He holds the lighter up for her. She inhales, exhales. "Well, cigarettes still taste good," she says, mostly to herself.

As she smokes, she drifts off again, her eyes settling absently on the painting of the skull. It caught Tate's eye when she first moved in. He couldn't begin to piece out all the strange and beautiful things about Violet that made him fall in love with her, but the way she filled this space - this room where he'd lost his own life, made him feel like he might get a chance to feel some precious hint of it again. That painting and the gumball machine filled with baby doll parts on her desk, when he saw those he knew he wasn't dealing with an ordinary girl.

She wasn't afraid of things the way you'd expect. Even when he'd surprised her in the rubber suit, she insisted he hadn't scared her. Even if it wasn't true, he loved that she wouldn't admit to being afraid. And she had wanted him to take her right there on the beach, and, god, he would have if they had both been on the same side of existence. She even stood up to those kids on Halloween, told them off right there in the driveway – one against five.

But today - today she had been afraid. She had been afraid of _him_. And he realized he must have a heart, because he felt it breaking when she begged him, _Please, Tate. Please_, she said. _I don't want to die_.

He looks at her carefully now. She's wearing a long black T-shirt with black leggings and his cardigan he'd given to her earlier when she said she felt cold. It's much too big for her. She looks so sweet and small. He shivers at the memory of shining the light down into the hole, to show this girl the discarded version of herself. He'd tried hard to protect her from ever seeing it. _I had this idea_, he told her, _that if you chose to die, with me, you wouldn't be so sad._

She rises from the bed and moves to the window. He watches her watching the night, the flare of the cigarette glowing when she inhales from it. She flicks the ashes on the floor.

"Violet?"

"Hm?" She doesn't turn her gaze away from the moon.

"Do you want me to leave you alone tonight?"

She doesn't answer. She drops her cigarette and douses it with her shoe. If she wanted to, he would give her that, for as long as she needed it. He felt pain at the thought, but just as he'd promised her once before, he would leave her alone if that's what she wanted.

But then she turns to him. He tries to read her face. Her eyes show hints of green in the soft light.

Wordlessly she discards his sweater, lets it fall to the floor. Her hands go to the hem of her shirt and she pulls it up over her head. She unhooks her bra and that falls, too. She kicks off her shoes and pulls off her leggings and panties and suddenly she is standing there before him in her perfect beauty.

She walks to the bed and lies down. "Come here," she says. He moves cautiously to the foot of the bed and, just like the last time she'd welcomed him when she could have taken him up on his offer and sent him away, he climbs over the iron railing and lays down beside her. He waits. He will do whatever she wants. He will give her whatever she needs. She lies very still, studying the ceiling, then turns to the message on the chalkboard, resting her gaze there.

"What are you sorry for, Tate?" she whispers.

A rush of emotion floods him. It swells up in his chest, pools as tears in his eyes. What is he sorry for? The question is a deep well and the answer could pull him down so far he'd never be able to claw his way out.

When he doesn't answer, she turns her face to him. A tear escapes down his cheek. She brushes it away with her thumb. "Shhhh..." she sighs. "I don't want you to leave me alone, Tate."

She strokes his hair gently. He closes his eyes to feel her delicate fingers weave into his curls. When he opens them again she's looking at him intently.

"Tate?"

"Yes, Vi?"

"Touch me."

He raises his hand to place the tips of his fingers on her forehead, he slides them down slowly along the curve of her cheek. She closes her eyes, her face set in concentration, as if she's testing her new knowledge. Even though she's dead she can feel this... and this. He brings a finger to her ear, where he traces the line of it. He draws the finger down the length of her neck, skims it along her collarbone. His hand sweeps over her shoulder, down her arm, to her delicate wrist. He carefully straddles her body then, takes her wrists in his hands and guides them to rest against the pillow on either side of her head. He leans forward, pressing soft lips to her scars. He kisses them softly, reverently. She shivers.

He slides down to touch his lips to hers. He presses gently against them, a question. They answer, opening for him, enticing his tongue to reach inside. He moans into her mouth as their tongues engage, exploring, caressing. They take their time, sinking deeper into the sensations of the kiss. His hands cradle her face as their mouths converse in their own language of secrets and wishes. At last he relinquishes her lips, leaving them swollen and red, to continue his journey down her body.

He gently grasps her breasts, kneading the generous handfuls, before taking a nipple into his mouth. He sucks it, dabs at it with his tongue, he presses kisses against the petal soft skin before plunging his mouth down, drawing up, plunging down, and drawing up again. He lifts his head to put his mouth to its twin, stroking it broadly and then flicking it with his tongue, teasing with soft nibbles, making her whimper and coo.

He kisses his way down her stomach. Running his tongue along her hip bone, his hands grasp her thighs, opening her to him. He gazes at her loveliness, glistening and pink. He glances up to see she is watching him, her eyes bright with anticipation. He reaches his tongue out to taste her, one long, slow lick up the length of her folds. A groan from deep in her core rises to her throat. Her head falls back. He waits, watching from his perch, until she looks at him again. He darts his tongue over her clit, eliciting her tiny whimpers. He draws back, pauses for a beat, and dips into her wetness. He draws back again, waits, locks her gaze, and dips again, deeper. Her head falls to the pillow, her chin raised to the ceiling. He keeps her writhing hips still with a firm grip on her thighs and begins to lavish her pussy with deep, steady strokes. A moan escapes from his throat and she bucks from the vibration of it. Her juices flow, sweet nectar he eagerly laps up. His hands reach blindly for hers, finding them, he holds on as he plunges his tongue in again and again, deep and warm and wet. She tightens her grip as he licks her closer and closer to release. He wants to taste her pleasure. He presses open mouth kisses to her delicate folds, coaxing her higher, higher, until her body thrashes, she cries his name, and a rush of juices herald her arrival.

He rises from the bed to quickly undress. She watches him, whimpering impatiently for his return. He climbs above her, aligning their hips. She lifts her head to kiss him. Their mouths open as he pushes inside. Their mutual cry is smothered by the tangle of their lips and tongues. Her walls embrace his cock with delicious wet heat. He plunges into it again and again. They moan and cry and bite and scratch. His arms encircle her, his curls swipe her cheek as he loves her with every thrust. _It's you and me, together, for always._

They rescue each other from the darkness this way, holding on tight, their bodies assuring, without any words, they will find their way into the light.

.

...

.

.

_Thank you to everyone who read this story. "Smoldering Children" is my favorite episode because of how it explores the two sides of Tate, and Violet's conflicted feelings about him. He is beautiful in that episode, and sad and scary, too. It was fun to explore all of that in this story. Thank you to everyone who reviewed. I really appreciate it! May you all wake up tomorrow morning to find Tate standing at the foot of your bed. :)_


End file.
